Aftermath

E I G H T

The morning light barely filtered through the enchanted ceiling as Hermione struggled to focus, her quill scratching absentmindedly across her parchment in Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall's voice, usually sharp and clear, drifted past her ears as though from a distance. 

Her mind, despite her most determined efforts, was elsewhere.

This is ridiculous, she chastised herself, frowning at the unfinished line she'd just written. Focus, Hermione. Just focus. But even the simple command felt weightless. 

Every time she forced her thoughts back to her notes, a certain face—pale hair, sharp eyes, and an almost-smile—crept back into her mind. His voice, that maddeningly low drawl, echoed somewhere in her chest.

She could almost hear it: "Flustered, Granger?" The thought made her cheeks warm. She blinked hard, scratching out an answer that didn't quite make sense, but she couldn't bring herself to care. It's just...Draco Malfoy, she reminded herself, barely believing her own rationalization.

Beside her, Parvati nudged her gently, noticing Hermione's distant gaze. "Earth to Hermione," she whispered, a worried smile tugging at her lips. "Where are you today?"

"Oh, sorry," Hermione murmured, her cheeks reddening slightly. She straightened in her chair and tried to brush off the heat on her face. "Just...distracted."

"Distracted? You?" Parvati's brows clustered in the middle of her forehead, but there was a curious glint in her eyes. "Careful, Hermione, at this rate, you'll start tripping over your feet."

Hermione forced a chuckle, though it sounded strained. Get a grip, Hermione, she thought. He's just Draco. Arrogant, pompous, infuriating Draco. 

And yet, she couldn't shake the memory of how he'd looked the night before in the dim candlelight, his eyes soft, the tension between them almost...bearable. She shook her head, but the warmth lingered. A small, traitorous voice whispered: 

And maybe...more than bearable?

As if testing her patience, her next classes went by in the same pattern—notes blurred, words jumbled, and her mind incessantly dragged back to him. Even her reliable concentration felt flimsy under the relentless thoughts that floated around her head.

By lunchtime, Parvati's eyes were full of suspicion. "I swear, Hermione, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were hiding something." She glanced pointedly at the soup Hermione was stirring without purpose.

"Honestly, Parvati, I'm fine!" Hermione insisted, louder than she meant to. A few heads turned, and she ducked down, her cheeks burning once again. She really wasn't making it easy on herself.

Parvati arched an eyebrow, studying her closely. "If you say so..." she said slowly, though her skepticism was evident. Hermione could only sigh, praying for the distraction of the afternoon.

Later that evening, Hermione found herself in an empty classroom with Draco once more, the same dim candlelight casting shadows across the walls. She tried to ignore the quickened pace of her heart as she sat beside him, their chairs pushed close to a small desk. 

Professor McGonagall had taken extra measures to set them up with a dedicated space, arranging for an unused classroom solely for their work. It was tucked away in a quiet corridor, removed from the usual bustle of students, a haven where they could pore over their memorial notes uninterrupted. 

With the common rooms off-limits due to their different houses, the secluded classroom was as close as they'd get to neutral ground. The soft candlelight flickered against the old stone walls, casting shadows that lent the room an intimate, almost secretive feel—perfect for the focused, quiet work they were tasked to complete together.